


The Nazgûl of Minas Morgul, The Ranger of the Morannon

by CorsairLord



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:39:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsairLord/pseuds/CorsairLord
Summary: Long did he resist, longer still he fought and only in the end did he succumb to the Ninth Ring. And all the while a spider watched and mourned.





	1. The Tower of Sorcery

“You still linger, but a shadow of a Man. You are far stronger than I had ever thought, Talion.”

The half-man, half-shadow looked at the Great Spider, in her womanly form and felt...something rise in his chest. Pride?  
He could no longer tell. He had stopped feeling as he once had when he lived long ago.

“Not….not strong….enough.”

His voice seemed to echo and bounce upon itself, lending it a hollow quality, while every word seemed to be like forcing a river through a single sieve.

“I beg to differ. Out of all fates I had seen, all paths you could have walked this...this was by far the hardest. To fight against the call of the Nazgûl for nigh on thirty years...I scarcely doubt any other could claim to have your strength of spirit. I...am impressed."

“Truly....will wonders….never….cease…?”

“It strains you, to speak, doesn't it?”

With the softest of steps, Shelob almost glided across the once Great Hall of Minas Ithil, now Minas Morgul-she had seen and heard both Uruk-Hai and Man refer to it as such-and came to stand in front of the dead man.  
His eyes, orange like The Deceiver's lidless eye, seemed to stare through her. They most likely did, as his vision was of both the Seen and Unseen.

“I….have no need….of speech….not….anymore.”

“No, you wouldn't, would you? Your soldiers, they know instinctively, do they not? They never tire, never eat….never die. Do they know they are dead, I wonder? Or do they still think Minas Ithil still stands?”

Ah, and that elicited a reaction, if a sedated one.

“Minas Ithil….does still….stand….and her….soldiers….guard her….and Gondor….from….them….”

“And are you one of her soldiers, Talion of Gondor, or something else entirely? And I did not ask if you needed speech.”

Talion turned away from the Great Spider’s too-gentle touch, and stared out at the corpselight flames that lit the dead city. He could sense each and every one of his men, from the first Númenorean soldier to be entombed in Minas Ithil all the way to the very last Ithilien Tower Guard to fall in battle.

“I….am the last….line….of Gondor….in Mordor….and….yes.”

“Ever the nobler of the pair of us. If only this world had more Men such as yourself….well it would be one uneeding of sacrifices. Let me see if I can alleviate that strain, I quite dislike not being able to hear you speak in a….semi normal fashion.”

Shelob placed her delicate fingers upon Talion’s brow, and used a fraction of her true power to beat back and block the corruption from the Ring of Isildur. As she delved into his soul, she could see just how much of the Man was gone. How he only had half forgotten dreams of his wife and son, how his only memories consisted of Mordor and death and shadow. 

“Not quite….what you had thought to see?”

“No, not at all. I knew what I would find. But knowing of something and seeing are two very different things, Talion. How well are you able to speak?”

“Well enough….the whispers are quieter now. Your doing?”

“Yes. Tis the least I could do for one who keeps me so well fed.”

The barest hint of disgust played across his features, likely the most emotion he could comprehend and show.

“It is easy to forget you are the daughter of Ungoliant, especially when you appear in this most fair of forms…"

Talion’s fingers gently grazed her still raised right arm and seemed to linger longer than what those of polite company would consider polite.  
But then, The Queen of Spiders and the Gravewalker were hardly polite company. 

“Most often, I have found, that which is fair is hardly good. The reverse is true enough, I suppose. You are the epitome of that which is good in this world, yet you wear the trappings of one of the Nine and your eyes glow with the fires of The Deceiver.”

“Would you answer me a question, Shelob?”

She knew what would come next, and yet she still wished he would not ask.

“Yes. I would.”

“How long?”

He did not have to add on to the sentence, both knew what he was referring to.

“Another twenty...perhaps twenty-five or even thirty years. I am inclined to believe thirty.”

“Is there no way I would be able to slow it? Gondor needs more time.”

She hoped in that second that Celebrimbor was being consumed slowly by The Deceiver. To abandon one such as this….there were less heroes such as this than there were her eyes.

“No, Talion. But not all is lost. One day in the future, Barad-dûr will collapse and the One Ring will be returned from whence it came, and The Deceiver and The Ringmaker will perish. And you will be free, forever.”

He closed his eyes at that, and seemed to be dead to the world for a minute before he opened them.

“If...that is what is to happen, then it shall happen. Would you tell those that free me, after Sauron and...Celebrimbor fall, that….that Minas Ithil held as long as it could?”

“I wish I could, Talion. I would promise you that smallest of justices if not for the fact that past their casting down, I cannot see. But I shall endeavour to tell them. Tell them the tale of A Ranger who held back the tide as long as he could, who freed his King, who...Mordor was unworthy of hosting.”

He nodded slowly at that, and seemed to accept his fate.  
Something that all men struggle with.

“He was wrong, it seems.”

“Pray tell, what do you refer to?”

“You. Celebrimbor was wrong about you. He said you would end up betraying us at the first chance. How wrong he was…you are now the only living creature in all of Mordor I trust.”

She laughed softly at that, at the simple absurdity of it.

“Irony seems to be the downfall of all of his people. But-”

Before she could finish, in walked the ghostly and grim visage of a soldier; a Sergeant Dagor she saw. He still seemed to burn from the balefire that had killed him, but he strode forward with such a sense of purpose and ferocity, he could almost be mistaken for a living soul.  
Almost.

“Rrrranger, theeeeeyyyy reeeeetuuuuurn. Ooooordddddeers?”

His voice seemed to come from so very far away, it rang with an almost delayed echo.

“Pull back to the middle city, have the archers attempt to strike down their drakes and have the pikemen grouped with the infantry, similar to how we first did it. They may have forgotten our tactics, and even if they have not, it will still be effective.”

“Aaaaagrrrreeeeed, Rrrrrrangeeerrrr. Aaaand whhhhhaaat oofff thhhheeee cccaaaavalrrrrrry?”

“Those with bows, ride out as skirmishers. Those without, dismount and grab a pike. Have the First of the Tower Guard withdraw to the palantír chamber. They were far too close last time.”

“Yyyyyees, tttthhhheey seeeem tttoooo bbbeeee ttteeeeeessssttiing usss.”

“Indeed. Best of luck to you, Dagor.”

“Aaaaannnd ttttoooo yyoooouuu, Rannnnggeeeeer.”

As the wraith soldier ran out of the hall, Shelob noticed how on some subconscious level, Talion had wished for someone else to talk to, reveal his ability to converse as the living once did.

“I must-”

“I know, Talion. It is only three this day, led by Suladan. They ride atop their drakes, from the South.”

“I-Thank you, Shelob. That will help immensely. I bid you farewell. May we...speak again soon.”

“Of course, Talion. We will.”

And then with but a nod, he ran towards the most Southward window of the Hall and flew like an eagle out of it, glowing with the same corpselight that Minas Morgul now glowed with. She knew he would win. That the Nazgûl would find themselves banished and their beasts run through with ghostly steel and that the last defenders of Minas Ithil would cheer at their banishment, while the Númenoreans of old would glance at the Ranger in suspicion, for wielding near the same power as those they fought.  
She knew she would she would speak with him again.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××


	2. The Great Plains of Lithlad

The Great Deceiver had, since the Second Age, ties to the Tribes of Rhún and used them to great effect in his long wars with Gondor.  
And now, he sent the Wainriders and Balchoth against Talion’s forces, to break their supply lines and sow dissent in the Uruk-Hai ranks. A sound strategy, in theory. But that was his folly that day, to send the Wainriders and Balchoth instead of the Haradrim or Khandish tribes. For Talion was not of the blood of Númenor, but of Old Rhovanion, the Kingdom that was destroyed by the Wainriders and Balchoth. And in his heart he held a great and old hatred, newly watered with the poison of the Ring of Isildur.  
She knew he no longer remembered why he hated them so, only that he did. But she knew, she had seen the tales his father had told him, of how Old Rhovanion once ruled all north and east of the River Anduin, how the Riddermark and Esgaroth were descended from that old kingdom. How his mother would sing the songs of her people, the Beornings, who also claimed kinship to the Rohirrim and Lake-men, how she would tell him of Vidathya, the Warrior Who Wore Chains, how she would scare him with tales of evil Easterlings coming into their home and stealing him in the night if he didn't help clean the lord’s stables.  
So when she saw from afar, Talion mounted on a newly-broken stallion he had stolen from them and a thousand spectral lancers besides him, she knew The Deceiver had made a woeful mistake.  
He fell upon them upon the great plains of Lithlad, where they had ranged to, to graze their horses and cut off his Uruk’s main source of food. He fell upon them in the night, a dark and moonless one, pitch-black save for the great lidless eye of Sauron.  
And when he charged with his soldiers, old Númenorean Knights of Belfalas, Swan Knights of Dol Amroth and Green Shields of Pinnath Gelin, he remembered why he hated them so.

“FOR MARHARI! FOR OLD RHOVANION! FOR NARMACIL! VENGEANCE FOR OUR KINGS! VENGEANCE!”

And then came a wailing echo of cries from his lancers, terrible and great was its sound.

“NNNNNAAAAAARRRRMMMACCCCIIIIIILLLL! VVVEEENNGGGEEEAAANNCCCEE!  
FFFOOORRR OOOUURRR KKIIINNGGSS!”

They hit with the force of Grond, and sent the Wainriders into mad rush for their chariots and horses.  
But the wraiths wanted blood and vengeance and they did not tire. And so they charged into and through the Wainriders and Balchoth, tearing them into shreds, never slowing their mounts, again and again and again. Always with Talion at the forefront of the charge. And then they attempted to flee.  
And with the same mercy they had shown to his people a thousand years earlier, Talion ran them into the ground and down. None survived against such an unstoppable onslaught.  
Finally, when the last of the Wainriders fell, Talion released the memory of Aeglos from his grip and rode through their ruined camp, astride a horse now bound to him in a way similar to the Nazgûl and their drakes. He saw what he had wrought. How many had died under his glaive. How many had been run through with lances that had long since rusted or turned to dust. And he was sated.  
She waited there, in the ruins of the chief’s tent, and languished among the corpses that would feed her and her children in the following weeks.

“Talion.”

More wraith than man he was now, his spirit seemingly called forth at all times, bathing him in the foul sorcerous light. But still he held fast to his role as Gondor’s last defence in Mordor.

“Shelob.”

“I see you have glutted yourself on the Balchoth. Shall you return yourself to Minas Morgul via your...barbarous methods?”

“It is efficient.”

That he did not correct her on the city’s name spoke more about him than his appearance did.

“You are not the one who has to watch you cut your throat time and again. But you are not wrong.”

“Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?”

She would be lying to say she did not miss the Talion she had first known after the Ringmaker...betrayed him and his kin. His had always been an accursed line, since the Kinslaying.  
Now the Talion who stood before her reminded her too much of the Nazgûl in his mannerisms and speech.

“Because I am a curious creature. Because I can. Because I enjoy speaking.”

“Did you have another method of travel, Shelob?”

“Well you have a horse do you not?”

“I do.”

“Well then, perhaps we should ride to Minas Morgul-”

“Ithil.”

So there was some of the man still in there.

“-Ithil, I have not been to these lands in...a very long time.”  
“The city-”  
“Will not come under attack until two days after we return.”

She placed her hand over the spot where his heart once beat, and tried to see which of the two futures he would pick. They would never affect much, but they would affect enough.  
For a long moment, the dead man’s eyes met the spider queen’s and for just for a moment, the fires extinguished to show the grey-blue he once possessed.

“Very well. I will send my men back, with orders for who to leave in charge.”

“Do not tarry long...my Ranger.”

He stopped then, but did not look back.

“I am not your Ranger, Shelob.”

He strode out then, to give his orders and mount his horse.

“No, you are not. You are his, and I fear I will lament that until I wither away, blind and starving.”

She knew he would never hear, and for that she was glad. It would not help to worry him about things he could never change.

“Are you ready, Shelob?”

He reminded her of King Vidugavia then, in fine armour astride a finer horse, with a mighty host of the sons of Númenor behind him.

“Yes. Yes, I do believe I am.”

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××


	3. The Caves of Shelob

“Be still man, fighting the webbing will do no good.”

“And what do you suggest I do Hirluin? Wait to be eaten?”

“You will not be eaten, Dirar. But do listen to your friend. I spun those webs myself. All you will do is tire yourself out.”

Before the two men-a son of a deserter and a son of an Outcast-stood a woman most fair, with raven locks and milky white skin. Her state of dress was scant with but a simple black wrapping coiled around her body. But what was most striking was the fact that the spiders seemed to look to her, even go so far as to crawl upon her.

“W-who are you?”

A brave one. She was fond of the brave ones.

“Shelob, daughter of Ungoliant, Queen of Spiders and your host. Welcome to the Spider’s Cleft.”

“Queen of Spiders? But you are….are….”

With a coming of dark and light smoke, The Queen of Spiders was once again in the form she now preferred. 

In most cases that was.

“Are what, Dirar?”

“AAAAH! GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY!”

In her own way, she smiled as the man struggled to get away from her elongated fangs and many eyes. 

She would not eat him, no. That would anger Talion. If he could be brought to remember himself that is.

She knew it was irrational to worry about angering a Nazgûl-no, he was not of that black brotherhood yet-a Man, but over the years he had grown onto her.

Like a poisoned flower. Lovely to have, but reduced to dust too soon.

“Shelob.”

And there was her ailing flower now.

“Talion.”

“Your...children led me here. May I inquire as to the purpose?”

“You may, but first…”

Once more, she was a woman most fair then, and the two men held to the cave ceiling were transfixed at the sight of the...ghostly thing in front of them, silent as they watched Shelob place her fingers upon it's temples and...do something to still the sickly green spirit that had flitted around the man in black armour. He looked akin to a dead man, with grey skin and black veins, and those eyes of fire.

“Thank you...truly.”

“Of course, Ranger.”

“R-ranger?”

Talion turned to the man hanging from the ceiling, and saa something familiar in his face...his hair.

“Hirgon?”

“N-no, that was my father. My name is Hirluin. That's Dirar.”

Talion strode forth until he was almost a foot away from Hirluin’s face.

And then he nodded, slowly and painfully. As if he were remembering an old and bitter memory. 

“Shelob, I intend to-”

“Of course Talion, I only hung them to ensure my children knew they were not theirs to feed on.”

“Wise. Thank you.”

With a flick of Acharn, the men fell from the webbing and onto the cave’s stone floor.

“Th-thank you sir.”

“You are welcome. What purpose do you come to Mordor for, and how did you reach Cirith Ungol without passing through Minas Ithil?”

“Uh-Dirar?”

“W-we're Rangers of Ithilien, sir. Steward Ecthelion the Second sent us to...to survey Minas Morgul and the surrounding lands.”

“Rangers. Yes, we always were more versatile than others. Turgon no longer rules? All Men must die some time.”

She stayed quiet as to how ironic that statement was coming from him.

“We?”

“Yes, we. I am Captain Talion, Ranger of Gondor, Watcher of The Morannon, and Lord Protector of Minas Ithil. Take note of the last one, Rangers. As long as I and my men stand, _Minas Ithil_ will never be Minas Morgul.”

“You have men? Some of Minas M-Ithil’s defenders yet remain?”

How he wished it were so, Hirluin, son of Hirgon.

“All do, Hirluin. From High King Isildur’s First of the Tower Guard, to the Last Defenders of Minas Ithil. I have raised their spirits, in defence of Gondor. They ache for eternal rest, to return from whence I pulled them from, but they wish to defend their people more.”

“W-what are you?”

A Man, a good Man, but just a Man, she mused.

“A Nazgûl in all but name, but one that will not submit to Sauron while his spirit still survives.”

That caused both men to back away in fear, at the implication that one of the Nine Riders stood in front of them.

“Be still, Rangers of Ithilien. Talion has fought twenty one years against the call of Sauron, with my help. He will not falter now.”

“Tell me, Hirluin...how fares your father?”

Ah, but that path will only lead to sorrow, she thought.

“Dead. He died at Osgiliath. The Uruk-Hai swarmed from the North and overran the eastern side. He bought time for me and my mother to flee to Pelargir.”

“My condolences, Hirluin. He was...a good man. And a finer friend. Your people?”

“Most fled to Minas Tirith or Pelargir. Some serve as Rangers, or even Peacekeepers. But the Outcast spirit is still strong, sir. Some even have fortified camps in Ithilien to guard against Uruk raids.”

“Of course they would. Come now, Rangers. I will have some of my men escort you to the safest road out of Mordor.”

“But our mission is-”

“To protect Gondor. So do so. If Ecthelion the Second wishes to survey Mordor, have him muster the armies and march on the Morannon. My army will stand with him.”

“We have a duty-”

“AND HE AND HIS FATHER HAD A DUTY TO AID MINAS ITHIL, BUT NO AID CAME! THE CITY OF ISILDUR FELL, AND WITH IT IT’S PEOPLE AND HE DID NOTHING! SO DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF DUTY, DIRAR, FOR I HAVE DEFENDED GONDOR SINCE THE DAY I BECAME A RANGER, AND EVEN DEATH WILL NOT STOP ME FROM KEEPING HER AND HER PEOPLE SAFE!”

No, do not the anger overwhelm you, she thought as she strode over to the furious Talion and placed a hand upon his arm, already reaching for Urfael, and leaned near his ear.

“Calm yourself Talion. These men are not this Ecthelion, they are not Sauron, they are not the Black Hand. They are Rangers such as yourself. They are Men of Gondor. As you are. Do not lose yourself to his Ring. I beg of you.”

His arm shook with fury, but he slowly lowered it and turned to look at her.

The only person in all of Mordor he could trust-an opinion he had voiced to her more than once- and the only feeling he could muster towards her was the barest amount of kindness, for the thousand and one kindnesses she had done for him.

He did not feel ashamed, but he knew he should.

And that seemed to claw at him more than almost anything did.

“I won't. Not with you aiding me.”

Somehow, that simple statement caused her greater sorrow than Sauron’s betrayal.

She had never seen a future in which he said as such to her, and that made it all the sadder somehow.

“You give me undue praise, Talion.”

“No. No I do not. I shall lead these Rangers to my men and perhaps then...I will find the proper way to express my gratitude, Shelob.”

“I wish you luck in your endeavour, Talion. I bid you and these Rangers farewell. Fear not, Rangers, all of Mordor could set itself against you and Talion would defend you.”

And before any present could answer, she strode farther into the cave, into it's darkest recesses and for the first time in millenia, trembled with that same rage and sorrow as she did when she was betrayed. 

But she did not do it because she was hurt, no. She did it because she was powerless to heal the one that was.

How she hated Sauron then. Hated how his shadow seemed to lie over anything and everything in Arda, marring it with his mere existence. 

How she grieved for Talion, a man twice-dead who's third and worst death was fast approaching. 

The death of his spirit.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

 


	4. The Forest of Neldoreth

“They will come soon.”

“Let them. I shall banish them from whence they came.”

“And who will be there to banish you?”

He was truly a wraith then, a Nazgûl. Even the spirits of his men had noticed as soon as it happened. And with his last waning bit of strength, he released them from his service, freeing them from Sauron’s corruption.  And with their disappearance the other eight Nazgûl were heading to Minas Ithil. 

“I am not them! I am the Bright Lord!”

“No, you are a pale reflection of a Man! You tarnish the memory of Talion, Ranger of the Morannon even now! Using his body as a vessel, _Mairon_! You may have his strength of spirit, but you will never have his soul!”

And before the Nazgûl that wore his face could react, she placed her hand upon his face and over his heart and reached out for him.

And found him.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

“S-Shelob? Where are we?”

“Somewhere...somewhere far from his shadow.”

They were in a great forest, filled with great trees with wide trunks and many leaves. It was more beautiful than anything he had seen before.

“Am I…?”

“Dead? In a sense...yes. Your body...your spirit...it is his now.”

And then the forest was not as beautiful, for all he could hear was all their voices telling him he failed. Because he did.

“So I have failed.”

That was evidently the wrong thing to say.

“You stupid, stupid Man. I thought you smarter, wiser, not completely moronic. ‘So I have failed’? You did not fail, Talion. You resisted him for fifty years! You held back his darkness! You used his own Ring against him! So do not speak to me of failures, Ranger, for the only person who has failed is I.”

Now that was puzzling.

“How have you failed, Shelob?”

“Do you know the futures and fates possible if you were not even a fraction as strong as you were? He would have destroyed Gondor, and all of Arda, just as his master almost did. But because of you, there is a chance to save this world. _You_! Can you comprehend how important you are? Because of you the Nazgûl will be weaker than ever before, because of you Sauron has had to have kept his eye on Minas Ithil instead of the Realms of Men, because of you the Heir of Isildur will be able to reclaim his throne. And I can't even grant you your rightfully deserved peace!”

And then something terrible happened. She began to cry, freely and without reserve. So Talion did the only thing he could think of. He embraced her and held her as tight as he could.

“What need have I of peace? All my memories are of smoke, shadow and steel. All my dying dreams are of fire, war and death.”

She left his embrace then, and stared at him, looked into his eyes and saw no lie meant to comfort her.

“Your cloak...do you know where you acquired it?”

“I...no, I can not seem to recall.”

No, no, no she thought. This couldn't have happened. Those memories were his, and his alone. 

“Your dagger? The cloth wrapped around its scabbard?”

“I do not seem to remember...the dagger seems as though it was once a sword. I have no idea about the cloth however.”

“You truly do not know, do you?” 

“No, I do not. What is so special about these items, Shelob?”

“I...will attempt to remind you, if you will allow me.”

“Of course. I trust you.”

And for a moment...one infinitesimally small moment she considered letting him forget his family, and all the ills that had plagued him if only so he would finally be her Ranger. But then the moment passed, and she felt ashamed for even considering it and simply pressed her fingers to his temples and took away those hundreds of deaths and fights and horrors, and shed light upon the dimmed memories of his wife and son. Of his men, of his parents, of his life before Mordor. It was a minute that seemed to last an entire Age, waiting for his eyes to open and when they did, she saw the newly opened wound and fresh pain.

“I-Ioreth and Dirhael...I...I forgot them...my family...the only reason I still go on...I forgot them…”

“No, you never did, Talion. There are other cloaks, other daggers, better places to tie a beter cloth. You knew that they were important, only the significance was lost.”

“They...they are gone...and I will never see them again...I will never know the peace of the Gift of Man...my family…”

“You will see them again, Talion, I swear it to you! Do you trust me?”

He had only the strength to nod, but the look he gave her was enough. It was the look of implicit and complete trust.

“One day, I will remind you from afar of who you are. What you are. And then...fate willing, you will be free. To join your family. Eternally.”

“And what if I am not free?”

“You will be, Talion. You will be.”

Before either one had a chance to continue, the forest seemed to dim all around them, and a presence was felt.

“What is happening?”

“They are nearing you, Talion. One day, Talion, you will be free. I swear it to you.”

“I-thank you Shelob. You...are a better being than most. And someone I am proud to call my friend.”

She knew they did not have long, but throwing caution to the wind, she grabbed the strap that held his blades and dragged his lips to hers and kissed him, but once. It was too short, but it was enough for her.

“Goodbye, my...friend.”

And with that, Talion fell away.

For a time.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

 


	5. The Morannon

The Morannon.

The Ring.

The Heir.

Retrieve them both.

The Istari.

Murder.

The army.

Destroy.

Enslave.

Feed.

Go.

Talion.

Ignore.

The Ring.

The Heir.

The Istari.

The Mor-

_Be silent, Mairon, you will ensnare him no longer._

Ignore.

Ignore.

The Ring.

The He-

_Heir of Isildur. Your King, Talion. You freed one, once. Save another._

IGNORE.

THE RING.

IGNORE.

THE RING.

THE RI-

_Do you remember another Ring you forged once? To combat Sauron. And you were betrayed._

IGNORE.

IGNORE.

THE MORANNON. 

GO.

THE RING.

RETRIEVE.

_You do remember the Black Gate, do you not? Where you stood watch. Before you, your family and your men were slaughtered._

THE RING.

RETRIEVE. 

GO

THE HEIR.

THE R-

_ENOUGH! YOU WILL NOT CONTROL HIM! NO LONGER!_

And then he was free.

He was a Nazgûl still, but now he was also Talion, Ranger of The Morannon and a soldier of Gondor.

And he would protect his King.

He knew he did not have long, but he did not need long. His spirit coalesced into a great orb of balefire and sped towards the Black Gate. As soon as he saw the Army of The West-battered, bloodied but yet unbroken-he could tell who his King was. The Crown and Seven Stars of Elendil flew proudly alongside the White Tree of Gondor, proclaiming that the King had come again.

And he was being attacked by an Olog-Hai.

With a great and terrible speed, he crashed into the lines of Uruk-Hai, Haradrim and Easterling sending them reeling from the shockwave.

And with a voice mighty and terrifying, he proclaimed his intent and raised the souls of his men, of The Last Alliance of Men and Elves.

“RISE, MEN OF THE WEST! RISE FOR YOUR KING! FOR GONDOR! FOR THE HEIR OF ISILDUR!”

All around rose the ghostly forms of Rangers of The Black Gate, the last of Númenor’s Faithful, and the Wardens of Durthang.

And they fell upon the enemy in seconds.

With great speed, he ran to his King, still under attack by the foul troll. He swung Urfael with such strength and rage that the blade bit deep into the troll’s flesh before it even noticed.

And when it did, it was terrified. 

“Y-YOU WERE DEAD! THEY SAID YOU DIED!”

“I DID!”

And with a mighty blow from Helm’s hammer the Olog-Hai fell to the bloodied floor. He reached down then, extending a hand to his King. As he pulled him forth, Talion could see no small resemblance to Isildur, and bowed his head when his King was on his feet.

“My King.”

“My thanks, friend of Gondor. Was it your voice I heard, raising the fallen?”

“Yes, my King. They wish to rest, return from whence they came, but they will gladly tarry long from that peaceful place to guard you and avenge themselves. My men especially.”

And he saw all around the Rangers long dead raining arrows upon the enemy, while the Wardens’ spears held them back with the Faithful cutting through and curling around them with their long swords of fine steel.

“Your men?”

“Yes, my King. I am Captain Talion, Ranger of Gondor, Watcher of The Morannon, and once Lord Protector of Minas Ithil.”

“The Rangers of the Black Gate died long ago, Captain. Yet you still live on.”

“I do not, my King. I am here only because of this.”

And he lifted his left hand and showed the Ring of Isildur, but he would not dare tell his King what evil had been done to his ancestor. That part of history would disappear with him.

“One of the Nine Rings of Power...then that means…we have met before.”

“At Amon Sul, my King. I apologize deeply for that. Truly, I was not in control. He was.”

“And you are in control now?”

“For a time, my King.”

“Why n-”

But before his King had finished, he felt it.

It was gone.

The One Ring was destroyed.

He saw the Eye of Sauron fall with Barad-dûr, he saw Mount Doom spew fire and ash, he saw the armies of Sauron flee from the Army of The West and The Army of The Past. Hee felt himself begin to fade and released his men, and bid them farewell as it became harder and harder to simply exist. He turned to his King and cast off the Ring of Isildur, and felt the familiar wetness of his blood drip from his neck, and fell to the earth, with his King catching him and easing his way to the ground.

“Captain!”

“F-forgive me, m-my King. I-I-I leave y-your service t-to-oo soon...m-might I-I as-ask yo-your na-name?”

“Yes...yes you may, Captain. I am Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur.”

Aragorn. 

A revered king he would be.

“A-A fin-ne nam-e, m-my Kin-King. M-may yo-you rei-reign lon-ng. I-I apol-ologize tha-that I cou-could n-not sav-save Min-Minas It-Ithil…”

And before he could finish apologizing for all his failures-perceived and real-Talion, a Ranger, a father, a husband, a friend, a Nazgûl, a wraith, an enemy, and a Man died his final death, surrounded by his countrymen.

A finer death he could not have asked for.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

 


	6. The Fortress of Cair Andros

Blind as she was, she still found her way to the place they had taken him.

The recently reclaimed island fortress of Cair Andros. 

Inspiring what a thousand scared men can do when they must.

She slipped past the sentries and fortress guards-Dunédain of The North from the way they dressed and moved, she had seen in the most recent of fates-to the chamber where they held his body in repose.

As soon as she touched the cold flesh of his unrotted body, she could not but help to weep.

“Oh, Talion. Is it selfish that I wish you still lived? I suppose it is, but that does not change that I wish it to be so. You were the best Man has to offer. I will dearly miss you, my Ranger.”

She traced the faintly embossed sigil of the Rangers of The Morannon on his armour’s breastplate before she laid her head onto his chest and held him close. She failed to notice how long of a time had passed when she heard the chamber door open, but she could not fail to notice those who walked in.

A King and a Wizard.

His King.

“Hello, Child of Ungoliant.”

Without raising her head, she addressed the Istari and Dunadan who had disturbed her mourning.

“Hello, Olórin, King Aragorn Elessar.”

“Why have you trespassed upon this land and stolen yourself into these chambers, my lady?”

Amused by his slight deference to her, she rose slowly from Talion’s body and looked at the pair.

“I am not your lady, Telcontar, I believe that title belongs to Queen Arwen Undómiel. If anything I am...was his lady.”

“Speak plain, Shelob, our patience for riddles has long since passed.”

“Shelob? Samwise said he killed the Queen of Spiders. Who are you, truly?”

So he was not just a handsome man with royal blood. He was intelligent as well.

Good, she thought, the last King was a fool.

“I am the Queen of Spiders, Estel...or do you not believe me?”

She shifted just enough to show the form she had first taken after her betrayal, a half spider-half woman abomination. 

“No...No, I believe you.”

Brave as well? If he could be as wise as he seemed...Well, the blood of Earendil did produce extraordinary Men.

“Good. As for that...Hobbit killing me, he simply blinded me with that accursed light of Galadriel. As if she did not trespass into my lands enough. The wound he gave me will heal. I trespassed upon these lands to say goodbye to a dear and beloved friend. I sincerely hope you live up to his sacrifice, Wingfoot. Oh, the things he did for Gondor and your line...he died four times for Gondor and its people.”

“He will not be forgotten, Shelob. He saved his King-”

“HE DID MORE THAN THAT, OLÓRIN! Do either of you know what he sacrificed to hold back Mairon?! His body, his spirit, his free will! Even the memories of his family were all but gone! He broke the Hammer, felled the Tower, and cleaved the Hand! He defended Minas Ithil for fifty years! He forsook even the Gift of Man for Gondor! He freed….”

No, she could not-would not-reveal that. She knew that he intended that dark stain upon the image of Isildur to die with them, to be forgotten. 

“And what do you think is an appropriate remembrance for him, Shelob, since you know him better than all others? I believe both Aragorn and myself would be willing to listen.”

“Mithrandir has the right of it, Lady Shelob. If the Captain did indeed do all these things for Gondor and it's people...I would gladly listen to your suggestions to honour his memory.”

She thought on that, and thought long on what he would have wished, turning to his body and placing a hand upon his that clasped Urfael in their grip.

“A tower. Build a tower upon the ruins of Durthang to stand vigil over the lands of Udun and Mordor. Garrison it with your hardiest men, and name it Minas Forodwaith. That would be a fitting vigil to him. And something he could appreciate.”

“Tower of Northmen...he is not of the Dunédain?”

“No, Thorongil, he was of the blood of Old Rhovanion. But he loved Gondor like it was his homeland.”

“He may not be of the blood of Númenor, but he is our kin, in spirit if nothing else.”

She smiled wanly then. He had once had kin in more than spirit and now he was reunited with them.

“How did he gain one of the Nine Rings, Shelob?”

“He bested one of the Nine, and freed him from his service.”

“I suspect there is much, much more to it than that, Shelob.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps you would do well to forget that question and ask another.”

“And what question would that be?”

“Why did Galadriel never tell you of the Bright Lord of Mordor?”

“Bright Lord? You could not mean Sauron?”

“No, I do not mean Mairon. I mean Celebrimbor, grandson of Fëanor. He who created the Rings of Power with Sauron. And the New Ring.”

“There is another?”

She let the Istari stew in his fear for a few moments before she shook her head.

“No, not anymore. A pity, truly. It was a most wondrous thing. But we were discussing the Bright Lord. Celebrimbor and Talion were united in death and sorrow when the Morannon fell to Mairon, and together they forged an army of Uruk and Olog-Hai to combat the evils of Mordor. Until, of course, Celebrimbor betrayed Talion. For freeing a Man held prisoner within his own spirit for almost a thousand years, instead of enslaving him. And then the New Ring was given to the Blade of Galadriel. To destroy Mairon. And Talion was forced to wear one of the Nine Rings of Man. Ahh, but the Ringmaker and the Blade failed. Mairon consumed the Ringmaker and the Blade fled. Back to the Dreamflower, I presume. Curious how she never mentioned such a thing to you, Olórin.”

She wished that some of her children had made it to Lothlórien, so she could find the Blade and deliver a special gift to her.

“Lady Galadriel had her reasons, I am sure.”

“Oh, do save it, Olórin. I care not for your reasons and excuses. I simply wish for you to tell her when you next meet that if her or her assassins ever trespass upon my lands again, I will remind them that I am a daughter of she who drank the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, with everything that entails.”

“Perhaps I should finish what Master Gamgee started. You and your brood of horrors have plagued Arda for far too long, Shelob.”

Once more, she shifted to her abominable form and bared her fangs.

“Please, Olórin, do me the service. I have long wondered what one of the Maiar taste like. Perhaps you are song, fire and love? Or are you now something more than the keeper of the Secret Flame of Anor? Perhaps the Flame of Udun twisted with you atop that peak?”

“How dare you, abomination. You would do battle with one of the Istari, even in your ruined state?”

“Of course. Perhaps I shall claim Narya as mine own after I drink you? I do so love the trinkets of the Ringmaker.”

“You-”

“PEACE, BOTH OF YOU! This is neither the time, nor PLACE! Lady Shelob, I believe you have...overstayed your welcome. Mithrandir, would you look in on Frodo? I believe he still has need of you, despite my efforts.”

So this is why they would come to call him the Restorer.

A warrior, healer, peacemaker and leader.

“I believe I have, Longshanks. But before I depart, in honour of the Captain, I shall give you two gifts.”

“Hmmph.”

“Thank you, Lady Shelob. It is most appreciated. May I enquire as to what gifts these may be?”

“The first: my children shall never attack another of the Sons of Númenor or any who bear the White Tree or Crown of Elendil. They shall survive on the remaining Uruk-Hai and Khandish. As will I. And the second is the more valuable of the two, in my opinion. Beneath the city of Minas Ithil, there lays a hidden door, wreathed in Ithildin visible only by the light of the stars. Inside this door lays a barrow built by the Bright Lord, but newly filled with the artifacts and treasures that Talion had recovered throughout Mordor. Of particular note is the crown of Eärnur. When you see the door, speak the name of the first White Tree and enter.”

He was quiet then, absorbing what she had told him, staring at the man who saved him and held back Sauron.

“I thank you, Lady Shelob, for your gift and because I cannot thank him. We will bury him in Minas Ithil, once it has been cleansed. If you wish to visit his resting place, I will ensure you are always able to.”

“That is a kindness I do not deserve, Strider. But I thank you for it. I shall take my leave then. Goodbye, King Aragorn Elessar, Olórin. My Ranger.”

And then she slipped away, into the darkened lands of the East, away from the lights of the West, and for the first time in so many years, she did not hunger for those lights as she and her mother once did. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My first story I've ever managed to finish, and I'm proud of it. Leave a comment if you like, don't if you don't.


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